


Never happened

by QuietlyWavesAtClouds



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AS ALL tHINGS SHOULD BE, Angst, Artisanal food, M/M, Misunderstandings, Prayer, good omens - Freeform, happy later, perfectly balenced, resolutions, sad FiRsT, there will be another chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:02:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlyWavesAtClouds/pseuds/QuietlyWavesAtClouds
Summary: “Crowley, my dear.” Voice coming up in a hushed breath. ‘You prayed to me.’Or the one where Crowley prays for help just once when he really needed it, and look where it got him.





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale could feel that something was Up. Capitalised, distinct enough for it too have continued to nag him until well after the Armageddont, until after he’d re-indexed all of the new books in his library- until now, where he has Crowley sat across from him at their favourite bench in the park. An array of snacks between them from the local artisanal just around the corner. 

There’d been a shift in Crowley, something… substantial. He was still himself, of course. As reliable as a demon could ever be. Right now, for example, he was glaring quite impressively through the thick dark sunglasses at a couple across the grass who might as well be frolicking together- honestly, who skips these days? - with bony legs crossed and the sleeves of his dark, dark red button down pushed up his forearms. 

It had started when Aziraphale had first been picked up by his friend for their first official moment of downtime after sort of saving the world via procrastination. The Bentley had pulled up outside, and after grabbing his favourite cardigan and getting into the passenger seat, he felt it. Like invisible thread between them.

Crowley hadn’t shown any signs of feeling anything amiss; had in fact launched straight into talking and hurtling down the road at an egregious speed to their destination. But as they’d walked to the bench, as they sat there now even, Aziraphale was still trying to figure out what it was that had changed. 

Until of course it clicked, and he felt a wave of something unbalancing wash through them. The boat had been rocked. The earth shaken. The seal broken. Crowley’s voice finally registered as Aziraphale breathed in deeply; lungsful of fresh-cut grass scented air that did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.

“-they’re holding hands a skipping, Angel, in a field. It’s absurd. There might as well be butterflies all around them!”

Aziraphale leaned forward and reached out over the table, one warm hand coming to rest over a rigid forearm and his clear blue eyes as wide as any individuals gripped by awe should be. 

“Oh, Crowley.”

The demon in question raised a sculpted eyebrow and looked at his best friend in humoured and critically, then down at the hand on his forearm, then back up again, even more critically. 

“Yes angel...?” a lilt of that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘You look as though you’re having a last-minute revelation. Have you finally conceited that the whole artisanal movement is just a result of human snobbishness?’ 

Aziraphale was close to climbing over the bench and throwing his arms around his friend. Sod the artisanal cupcakes, sod the inevitable splinters that’d worm their way through the khaki of his trousers. Crowley had done the one thing Aziraphale could never ask for from him, could never have expected but it meant so much and so deeply. It unwound like furls of soft woven gold in his chest. Aziraphale’s joy made the sun shine brighter around them, made the birds hop about in twos, made the air taste almost sweet. 

“Crowley, my dear.” Voice coming up in a hushed breath. ‘You prayed to me.’ 

Behind his shades, Crowley’s eyes went a vivid yellow, his arm tensed until it was almost like a rebar under Aziraphale’s touch. Then the angels face crumpled into deep regret. 

“-and I missed it.”

It hadn’t been Aziraphale’s fault, at the time, he hadn’t a body nor the means to embrace prayers, let alone respond to them. Not that that did anything to quell the deep sense of sadness he felt at knowing he’d missed such a thing, and Crowley’s prayers had gone unanswered. The significance of the fact that it was Crowley that had prayed to him not going at all unnoticed.

When Crowley had first run to the bookstore to find his friend, on the last day of the world and desperate and with the vicious forces of Hell nipping at his coattails, he’d been afraid. A cold, gripping kind of fear that had found its way into his throat and stuck there like a clump of ice. He’d felt freezing in that burning building. Freezing and desperately alone. The desire to find his friend had been beyond anything else he could have thought of, and he would have given anything for that reassuring companionship. So, he did- at least he’d tried. He didn’t want to enter a life of eternal torture without saying goodbye to the most important thing in his life.

He’d held a cross and everything- one of Aziraphale’s, he saw it on a desk. Crouched in a home ablaze, head down, it had burned his palms. 

Praying directly to an angel isn’t like a summoning- it doesn’t demand a response, and from the prayees perspective, it can feel a lot like hurling your feelings into a void. The fact that the prayer itself is directly for a specific angel makes that void substantially smaller compared to the vast void of The Greater Good tm, but a void is a void is a void. Particularly when the angel themselves is currently incorporeal and too busy with the end of times to manage their incoming messages. 

That’s how Crowley had felt. Praying just felt like thinking with hope he shouldn’t dare to have, but additionally with the bitter pained edge that it hadn’t worked, because despite-

“-please, Aziraphale, come back to me, I’m afraid- “

-he was still met with resounding nothingness. Until everything eventually worked out, and Crowley set aside the memory. Firmly. Well, he’d roundhouse kicked the whole experience into the deepest recesses of his mind along with every time he’d been caught crying at a movie/play and other memories of things that of course, didn’t happen. 

Until now of course. Because Aziraphale is looking at him as though he’d just cured a global disease in a spontaneous fit of goodness, and Crowley isn’t sure he can handle this. It feels like being caught having a crush, or worse, admitting to needing help. Horrific. 

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.” Aziraphale frowned a little bit, leaning back a fraction. Not far enough to not get stared at by a woman who jogged by and thought ‘ooh, lovely couple.’

“But, Crowley, you did- I can tell-“

“Nope.”

“Dear-“ Crowley pulled his arm away from Aziraphale’s hand, feeling a tight pocket of panic in his chest. “-there’s nothing to be ashamed of, I only-“ 

“No, Aziraphale, there isn’t, because I never prayed.” Prayer was all well and good when you weren’t a demon, then it was just- well it was wrong, wasn’t it? It’d be like an angel dancing around a firepit holding a pitchfork and speaking in tongues. “I can’t even pray really, can I?”

Aziraphale took back his hand slowly, hands wringing in front of his chest. Crowley was defensive, of course he was- Aziraphale should have expected so much, but he had dearly hoped that he wouldn’t fully reject the reality of the situation like he was now doing so. 

“You can pray, you did- I can feel it!” Resting a hand over his own chest like it ached. Deeply wanting to reach out and make contact again. “What did you need? Did you ask for anything? Is it anything I can help with now- “ 

Crowley had made the food between them go rotten and ant infested, which was a waste as those cupcakes were outrageously expensive. 

“-Crowley I’m so sorry I missed it- “Standing up and leaving, now that- that was a marvel idea. People didn’t know the power of just walking out of a situation when it became too much. Yes, let’s do that, on the count of three- or maybe just now? Right away. Talley ho. 

Crowley got up, and Aziraphale felt a wave of panic and upset wash through him. “No! I’m sorry, I shan’t bring it up again, don’t- “but Crowley was gone. Walked off on his long legs and then in his car, and then gone. Never in their 6000 years had Aziraphale seen him react that way, let alone had he been the one to elicit such a reaction. The guilt of missing a prayer from a human was terrible. The guilt of missing one from his best friend was worse. 

But the guilt of inadvertently making him feel uncomfortable about it afterwards? 

God help him.


	2. Plants shouldn't hiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its a bit all over the place but i'm having fun writing it

Crowley had gone back to his apartment and no, he hadn’t thrown himself on his bed and cried, but instead he’d made himself a cup of coffee and then thrown it away in favour of a bottle of Bordeaux. As of now he was thrown over his white sofa, thoughtfully stroking his thumb over the leaf of a Peace Lily and gently telling it how disappointing it was. Especially when compared to the Dracaena Marginata which stood proudly by the window.

“It’s like you’re not even trying, you know. It’s no wonder the other plants don’t like you.” The Peace Lily might have hissed at him, but perhaps he’s imagining things. Crowley chucked self depreciatingly before taking another swig of his wine, rolling his eyes at his own antics, plants don’t hiss. 

When the plant hissed again, a distinct sharp sound, Crowley took off his sunglasses to get a good look at it. 

Wonderful. 

So not only has he acted a fool in front of Aziraphale today and had his moment of weakness dissected by a well-meaning angel, but his houseplants are angry with him too. Clearing possessing more sentience than he had originally thought.

‘I didn’t mean it- well, I did, but a fear-based environment ensures that you do your best- ‘he reassured the plant, just as a cat slinked out from behind the big pot and glared unnervingly at him. Tail swishing back and forth, the whole thing looking like an excuse for God to boast ‘hey, Gabriel, look how much fluff and teeth I can give one creation,’ and with unnervingly sharp claws on his beautiful dark oak coffee table. The Cat hissed at Crowley, who unthinkingly hissed back, then drank some more. 

How did the cat get in? The windows were open, but he was on an eight-floor apartment and the fire escape was a twisted and rusty thing. It looked more like a wild industrial vine gripping too the brickwork. 

‘What do you want?’ Crowley asked sullenly, not in the mood for this. He just wanted to sulk, thank you, then figure out the best way to convince Azir too drop this whole prayer fiasco. 

Cat looked at Crowley despondently before trotting over too Crowley’s kitchen, making sure to get fur all over his black rug. Crowley staggered slightly as he followed, watching as Cat sat down in front of the fridge.

Over the next hour, Crowley set down a small plate of chopped up deli meats from his fridge for Cat too eat, and lamented too it whilst the small creature completely ignored him in favour of its meal. Crowley kept talking and gesturing even as Cat finished its meal and went about grooming itself, occasionally looking up too Hiss or screech something. To which Crowley would say 

“-Exactly! You get it!” or

“-don’t interrupt me.” Or

“-That’s exactly what I was thinking!” 

Crowley hadn’t tried too pet cat yet, mostly because it had made a show of sharpening its claws through the bottom of his curtains, but also because that just wasn’t where he was with it yet. These things took time. 

“-Its unfair, because he’s going too question it all now, isn’t he? All the um, the-‘ Crowley waved his hand above himself, lying on his back on the dining room table with Cat curled up in the fruit bowl besides him. “-well, the me, the demonisms. He must think me a pathetic excuse for evil. No, worse yet, he’ll start thinking theirs hope for me, he’ll start looking into things!” It’s hard to drink from a bottle whilst lying down, but Crowley is managing quite fine. “He’ll expect me to try and be better somehow, he’ll think I have that capacity all because I got scared and desperate once.” 

Cat hissed something fierce, and Crowley glared at it. “No, I’m not overthinking things, you’re just being blasé-“

There was then a knock at the door, and Crowley cringed, recognising the soft and polite nature of the knock as he’d heard it a thousand times before. He felt like a sacrificial animal laid on the table like this. 

“Crowley? May I come in?” Blasted soft voice. Crowley made a vague sound of confirmation, running a hand through his hair which had fallen all into his face. His sunglasses were still off, on the coffee table in the other room, which he didn’t like one bit. 

Aziraphale made a faint clamour as he came into the apartment, probably trying to find space too hang up his coat, nevertheless the prorogued wait made something shiver in Crowley’s spine. He wasn’t ready for this confrontation. Cats eyes narrowed slightly and its ears flattened against its head, showing off his fangs that under any other circumstances, Crowley would have found cute. 

“Oh dear.” Crowley sighed and sat up as Aziraphale came over. Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands and grimacing. Perhaps he should sober up. Then again, that also sounded like a terrible idea since the faint state of fuzziness was keeping him relatively calm right now. 

“I’m sorry for earlier, I didn’t mean to make you feel cornered.” Crowley shook his head, leaning back with his palms on the table. 

“No, it’s fine. Forget it. Have you met Cat?” Crowley picked up the fruit bowl full of fluff and held it out like a sacrificial offering. Cat looked offended. 

“I- no? Um, Hello Cat. It’s nice to meet you.” Aziraphale reached out and stroked over the back of Cat’s head, which Cat allowed- little traitor. “I can tell that it’s not fine- “

“You don’t let me pet you.” Crowley said with a hint of hurt in his voice, pretending not too hear Aziraphale. “I fed you, you ungrateful sod.” 

“Crowley. Will you talk to me?”

“It’s almost like you’re letting him pet you just to spite me.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale didn’t raise his voice, but he did his equivalent, which was soften it to the point of silk and soak it with emphasis. He even leaned forward, curls of hair tapping at his brows and a hopeful look in his eyes that even a demon couldn’t ignore. Crowley took the bowl of Cat back and held it on his lap, sort of cuddling it too his chest. 

“…yes?” Aziraphale looked relived, tilting his head to try and establish eye contact. Crowley tried not to feel like one of those snakes in glass cages at zoo exhibits. 

“You are alright, aren’t you?” Crowley nodded. “So you’ll listen to me, then?” More nodding. ‘Won’t you sober up?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale with a hint of are-you-kidding, which lead to three seconds of a blinking competition, which he lost swiftly. 

“Fine.” With a faint shudder, the alcohol left Crowley’s blood stream, leaving behind the groggy sense of dehydration and a surprising chill. Ah right, windows were still open. “Can I get you anything...?” Crowley asked as he set Cat down, swinging long legs off of the table and popping his back as he stood up. Aziraphale shook his head as he followed suit, the two of them moving into the modern kitchen. Miraculously, Cats empty dish had cleaned itself up and been put away. Crowley grabbed a bottle of chilled sparking water from his fridge, glancing at his sunglasses across the room- and then they were in his hand. Aziraphale looked at his reassuringly and nodded, too which Crowley muttered a small “Thanks.” And put them on, feeling a little better already. 

“I’m not going to bother you with a thousand questions, I only want you to know, please, that I would have answered if I could- you know that, right?” Aziraphale sounded a tiny bit desperate, and the bitter part of Crowley said that was because it was Aziraphale's angelic duty, but the other part of him said it was because they meant a lot to each other, and Aziraphale understood the significance of what happened. 

“Don’t worry, Angel.” Crowley said, which apparently wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted to hear at all.

“That’s not a yes.” Crowley shrugged. “Crowley-“ The demon in question sighed dramatically and leaned his forearms on the counter behind him, radiating as much nonchalance as possible. Glancing over at Cat, who’d taken too trying to climb a Yucca plant that stood near his precariously stacked CDs. What could go wrong there? “-have I failed you?” 

There was an awful kind of quiet between them, then. Like all the air had been burned out of the room. 

“What?”

“I feel like I might have.” Aziraphale said with a miserable expression, eyes flicking down to the ground. He looked genuinely upset with himself. “I know how you feel about my side of things…” Crowley’s fall from grace hadn’t been so much as a plummet, more like being told by the Voice Of God he was unredeemable, and a white hot burning pain that was all encompassing, his angelic aura being scorched off of him by hellfire. Dripping from his wings like molten gold until they were left the colour, quite fittingly, or charcoal briquettes. “I don’t want you to think that your prayers didn’t reach me because of anything to do with you, you’re not somehow barred off from all things heavenly- your voice is as capable of reaching me as any other creatures.”

Crowley felt like a very fine piece of foil. The tiniest touch would crumple him, or maybe punch right through him. 

“That’s all I wanted to say, thank you for letting me speak.” Aziraphale sounded like he really meant it. It took a lot to render Crowley speechless. He didn’t even react when Aziraphale took one of his bone white hands in two of his own, holding it up between them, which- when did they get so close? “Thank you for trusting me with your prayers, and If you ever feel like you can tell me what it was that you reached out for- “The look of hope in the angel's expression was undeniable. “-then know that I’m here.” 

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand for a moment and smiled, before the smile faltered, and he turned the demon’s hand over gently. A scar in the shape of a crucifix was lodged in the base of his palm- something Crowley couldn’t heal since it was, technically, the power of heavens work. 

That was enough for Crowley, who pulled his hand away and smiled as much as he could with a little too much teeth. 

“Thank you, Angel. Message received.” Crowley slipped out from between Aziraphale and the counter, setting his drink aside. “I’ll be sure to send out a prayer the next time I’m in the mood for a meet up.” Picking up on the shift in atmosphere, Aziraphale responded in a lighter and louder tone:

“Actually, I got a mobile for that. After the mix up with the ansaphone it seemed worth the investment.” Crowley jumped on the fact with a more genuine smile. 

“Well Well! Look at you joining the century at last- Do you need help setting it up?” 

That’s how the pair of them ended up arguing over ringtones, locked in a discussion about whether Freddie Mercury would have wanted ‘I want to Break Free’ used to signify incoming calls. They’d ordered and eaten a Dhansak and Dhal dish between them, conversation easing back into what it had been before this whole fiasco, although they both knew that they were pretending at least a little. 

They decided to watch a film afterwards, sat on the sofa with Cat on Aziraphale’s lap looking smug. Crowley nodded off around midnight, cheek propped up in his palm. Cat got up and off of Aziraphale’s lap, prowling over too Crowley and climbing up onto his narrow chest. Walking in slow circles before settling down right in the centre of his torso, showing affection only now that Crowley couldn’t notice. Crowley grumbled a little in his sleep but stayed still.

Aziraphale huffed with a fond smile. Reached over too gently pluck the sunglasses off of the sleeping demon’s face and set them down safely. Without them, he looked younger and his face more open. A thin nose, a sharp jawline and hair that when unstyled looked too be ever so slightly wavy, even when cut as short as it was now. Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to miss Crowley’s longer hair, even though it had been beautiful, for the simple reason that now he could actually see Crowley’s face. 

Cat watched, unblinking, as Aziraphale got off of the couch and crouched onto his knees, hands coming together. A few seconds later, after the angel said something in a language as old as time, Crowley’s palms glowed. Just a little. Aziraphale watches as the scars healed, chewing his lower lip and looking at Cat.

“Do you think- “he whispered. “-that because I can pray for him, and it works, there’s a slight chance that possibly, just possibly, he can still be prayed too as well?” 

Cat blinked. 

“From before he fell. He wasn’t created to be a demon- perhaps that’s why he’s tired all the time? Because he doesn’t get any strength from prayers? Maybe it isn’t sheer laziness?” sure enough, there were dark smudges under Crowley’s eyes, just as there seemingly always had been. Now that he really looked, there was a faintly sunken aspect too Crowley’s appearance that didn’t seem to be just a part of being a demon. “Do you think I should try, and see if it helps?”

Cat had fallen asleep. Aziraphale sighed and looked at his best friend, and stayed up all night thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for your feedback on the first chapter, I've decided on a longterm direction for this story too take now and hope you like how its progressing!


	3. Invigorated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I dont have a beta so,, any hot mess mistakes are my bad I'm sorry)

Aziraphale could tell that Crowley was pretending that the prayer incident had never happened, and that’s alright. Ish. If Crowley needed to act as though it didn’t happen, then that’s his business, but for Aziraphale? Things aren’t so easy. 

Angels are meant to answer prayers somehow- never interfering with free will, of course, but doing something where possible. Right now, Aziraphale felt wrong- all types of itchy- knowing that he’d failed to do so. He knows it’s hardly his fault that he missed the prayer at the time- he was disincorporated- but still, it felt deeply unpleasant. Not too mention personally upsetting.

Crowley was incredibly important to him. To know that Crowley had done an act as intimate as praying too him, and Aziraphale missed it? It felt like a hole in his chest. Now he had to find a way to help Crowley in general and hope he hit whatever it was that Crowley had reached out to him for beforehand, so that Crowley would know that Aziraphale would always try and help him if he asked. 

Of course this was a difficult situation, since he had no idea where too start. Praying for Crowley, instead of directly to him, seemed like a good bet. 

So over the next week, Aziraphale sent out prayers with the demon in mind. As an angel, his prayers had a lot more sway since he could at least partially bring them to fruition himself, just by making his prayer meaningful and honest. 

It was a difficult art too master. Some prayers- such as praying for Crowley’s houseplants too grow healthily- worked a little too well. He got a phone call a few hours after the prayer itself from Crowley accusing him of sneaking into his apartment and whispering encouragement to the plants, since now, his apartment looked like a jungle. Other prayers, such as gently encouraging Cat too stick around since it clearly made Crowley happy, lead to a surge of other animals- such as the ducks at the park- swarming around Crowley’s feet. 

Aziraphale was learning to be more specific without being too obvious. There was a slight possibility- and it was slight- that he might have inadvertently made Cat immortal whilst praying to Cat too be around whenever Crowley needs companionship. He hadn’t really thought about it until the next day when Cat came up to him and stared at him in a way that felt more… omniscient. 

It seemed to be having a good impact on Crowley too… Although it could be difficult to tell what the demon was really thinking sometimes. 

The first time Aziraphale prayed to Crowley- specifically too him, it was different. It was a very small prayer- just a modified, general prayer of gratitude. In his prayer he thanked Crowley for his part in making things, word for word, ‘better.’ Vague enough that if it works, it won’t give him away, but also something that’d hopefully have a good impact on Crowley if it did turn out to be a successful venture. 

The next day, Crowley showed up at Aziraphale’s book store, and with him he brought two takeout drinks and a different air about him than usual. 

“Angel!” almost breaking the book store door off of its hinges, striding through with a grin on his face and resting his palms on the counter after setting the drinks down. Aziraphale looked up and returned the smile, easy as breathing by this point. 

“Crowley! You’re up early this morning.” It was only eight thirty, a record for the demon. 

“Yes, I woke up feeling distinctly invigorated.”

“Invigorated?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at Crowley’s choice of words.

“Yes, like um-“Crowley made a vague gesture with his hands. “-like celebrating, almost. So, come on! Let’s do something, lunch? A walk? I could take you to see a play?” 

“I’m afraid need to mind the shop today my dear-.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do!” 

And that’s what they did. Crowley spent the day with Aziraphale in the shop, helping to add to its unapproachable atmosphere by touching the window panes until they became grimy, and scorching the lamps with carefully controlled hellfire too dust them with soot and darken the place overall. He went so far as too add a faint Sulphurous stench around the doorway, one that made people on the street reel as they got closer. 

Aziraphale had made the place as respectfully unappealing as he could, but when surrounded by books, he found himself too be in a typically positive mood. This reflected on the surroundings, so having Crowley around was useful too gloom the place up a little. Make it spookier. 

Crowley even helped out when a particularly persistent customer came in and tried to buy a copy of The Bacchae, one which Aziraphale was particularly fond of as he used to take walks with Euripides. Aziraphale had suggested that perhaps the man would like a newer play instead, but this only resulted in more persistent insistence from the man, who even leaned across the table in an attempt to intimidate what he assumed to be a soft bookstore owner. 

Crowley, unimpressed, peered out from behind a bookshelf and stared at the old cocoa cup left on the dusty countertop from the drinks he’d brought earlier. Within seconds it overflowed with spongey mould and creepy crawlies; one rather impressive cockroach scurrying out and straight up the man’s sleeve. He left with a shriek and threats of terrible Yelp reviews, but neither of them knew what Yelp was. Crowley grinned like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, and it made Aziraphale’s chest feel warm and tight. 

Later that day, Crowley had come up to the back room of the store for drinks, and had ended up spilled over the sofa like a sedate stick insect in expensive looking black suit trousers and a knitted vest style top. 

“I just- I just feel bloody brilliant about it.” He had announced out of seemingly nowhere, a slight slur on his tongue. 

“Hmm? ‘bout what?” Aziraphale raised his head off of the sofa arm it was on.

“I don’t… I don’t know! And that’s, that’s the beauty of it! Of this feeling.” 

Aziraphale hummed happily, running a hand through his own white hair which was starting to grow out a little but. 

“I’m happy f’r you, Crowley. S’good too feel that way.” 

“y’know what it’s like? S’like..” Crowley appeared to be deep in thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. He had his sunglasses on but Aziraphale knew that he’d have a distant look too his eyes underneath them. “..I haven’t felt it in so long, Azri, I don’t even remember when I last felt it.” 

There was quiet for a little moment, where Aziraphale tried to collect his words enough to respond too something like that, before Crowley sat up suddenly. 

“Midnight walks!” 

“Hmm?” Crowley stood up and swayed a little, sticking out his hand. 

“Come walk with me!” And it seemed that Aziraphale wasn’t going to get any further reasoning than that, so he shrugged and took the offered hand. It was cool and firm, and still blissfully un-scarred, and it remained that way for the whole duration of their walk.

Because they held hands. For the whole thing. Something in Crowley was either drunk enough, or impacted enough by the prayers, that he didn’t think too let go or hesitate- and it felt good, it felt correct. The two having spare hands too gesture and shape out their words with the usual drunken enthusiasm. Nobody was watching, higher up or lower down, it was just them wandering through the streets and ranting about stars that only they could see through the smog of London. 

After Crowley had gone home, Aziraphale had put some thought into the incident, and decided that something quite wonderful had happened. Praying for Crowley too be thanked, for him too sense as though his small acts of goodness were recognised, had led too him feeling like holding Aziraphale’s hand was okay. 

Over the next month, Aziraphale prayed too Crowley in small ways about twice a week. Never interfering with the demons free will, never praying for something that would contradict his nature- not once did he pray for Crowley too be good, or for Crowley to act a certain way. He doubted that it’d work, but he didn’t want too accidentally inspire some more inner turmoil. 

Aziraphale prayed for Crowley, he prayed for his wellbeing and for him to find himself being lucky, sleeping well, finding acceptance. 

It was all rather wonderful, and Aziraphale was working up too finding a way to tell Crowley what was happening. A sub-goal too this whole endeavour was to show Crowley that the praying too each other was an alright thing to do. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of, it was personal and intimate yes, but Crowley had no need to feel so ashamed of himself. The other reason behind all of this was for Aziraphale’s growing suspicion that Crowley, as a fallen angel, still needed to be believed in. 

A demon could live out its existence happily making the world fester and twisting things without needing recognition beyond that of its higher ups telling it that yes, it was in fact evil, well done. Crowley though? Crowley was a demon, yes, but a fallen angel first. Aziraphale suspected that, much like Satan himself actually, believe worshipped- for lack of a better word- gave Crowley some kind of power. Whether that was just physical or mental strength, or whether it manifested into smaller ways like bravery or cunning at specific times, he wasn’t sure, but it seemed to be working. Crowley seemed to be living… better. 

Looking better too. The bags under his eyes had paled, and his skin had gone from a greyish tint too something more like marble. Also, he didn’t squint in sunlight as much. 

Occasionally, Aziraphale found Crowley lounging about in his snake form, something he only did when he felt relaxed or confident. He’d even been allowed to carry Crowley around on his shoulders like a heavy scarf. On a particularly memorable time, Crowley had wrapped himself around a hot water bottle like a dragon guarding a pile of gold.

Aziraphale had walked into the room and found him that way, blearily rubbing his eyes from a ten-hour reading marathon. 

“My dear, if you were cold, you should have let me know.” He’d said, before finding a blanket and wrapping it around the black coil of a creature. Crowley hadn’t reacted, but he’d tightened up his grip of the bottle contently and hissed slightly. Aziraphale pet him gently on the head before wondering off to get himself a drink, barefoot and calm, Crowley as much of a part of his living space now as he was a part of Aziraphale’s daily life. 

It did occur too Aziraphale that perhaps, some of the other angels might have moral objections too his now fairly habitual prayers to a demon. The problem was that they didn’t know the details, and he knew that they wouldn’t care too learn. So long as they didn’t find out, then it’d be alright, and things could continue in the uphill direction they were for the foreseeable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that theres more chapters too come speaks volumes too if this will work forever.
> 
> Anyway, holy shit 200 Kudos,,, I cannot content with how much that is. Thank you so much, and the comments have made me so happy! I hope this chapter comes through okay, its a little too fluffy rn but like.. hang in there
> 
> the pain is comin

**Author's Note:**

> Levitticus, 40: 29-31
> 
> 'So leaveth comments, yee readers  
> as to do so is to nurture a writer,  
> and a nurtured writer be a writer who updates faster'
> 
> Its true folks, srysly though I hope you like this sort of test chapter, lemme know what you think xx


End file.
